To Sing Again
by o0Aurie0o
Summary: War affects both the small and the great. Terrible difficulties are faced by those left behind when those of strength leave for war. Post War of the Ring, Pre-Battle of Bywater. Rated M for sexual assault and graphic violence. Not gratuitous, but may be uncomfortable for some readers. No lemons.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own any aspects of The Lord of the Rings series, and do not seek to make profit from this story. I only write this for my own entertainment and that of the LotR fanfiction community.

**A/N:** Hello all! As a LotR fan, I have long wanted to write about those who are left behind when the men of the North leave for war. It seems that there are few stories written on this topic; this confuses me, as there are plenty of opportunities for creativity in this sense. The action does not simply reside with the main characters (beautiful as that side of the story is.)

As mentioned in the summary, this story will contain dark themes and some graphic violence, including sexual assault. I want to assure you that I do not intend to make it extremely graphic; I only wish it to be realistic. As far as the sexual assault goes, I will not include too much description; it will be mainly focused on the thoughts of the main character, in order to avoid gratuitous content. I would appreciate any and all constructive criticism you might offer me on this subject, or on any other subject regarding this fanfic.

Note about the Chapter Title: I borrowed this line from one of my favorite songs by Enya, called Ebudæ.

Thank you for reading, and enjoy. :)

* * *

**Chapter One: A Long Way Back and Forth Forever**

"Celaireth! Come inside dear, it grows dark," my mother calls from within my family's small abode. She leans out the open doorway, a somewhat anxious expression on her creased, strong face.

"I do not fear the dark," I mutter crossly, too low for her to hear. "Coming, Nana!" I call back. She nods once and disappears back inside.

The warm evening air of summer is far more pleasant than the air inside. The house still holds in the heat of the day, despite my mother's best attempts to air it out. From my seat on the fence surrounding the paddock, I can hear crickets chirping loudly and happily. The sweet scent of hay fills my nostrils. I long to stay outside, but I know I must go in. Even our two horses do not get to remain in the paddock like they do most summers – they are barred inside the barn, only ten or so lengths away from the house. At night, we bar our doors shut and draw the curtains. All must be protected – there are evil men about and orcs too… or so I have heard.

I have no real reason to doubt the words of those far older and wiser than I. It is just that I feel so safe here. It seems that nothing could touch me here. We live in a secluded area, one far from the commonly travelled East-West road. Our land lies south, along the Gwathlo River, at least six days from both Bree and Imladris. My people, the Dúnedain, live spread out around the area in settlements much like my own. Most live between the Mitheithel and the Bruinen rivers, in the area called the Angle, but some, like my own family, have settled farther away from the others.

Who would bother disturbing us? We have no riches, and we are far from the roads most travelled. I cannot help but think that my elders worry over much.

"Celaireth!" calls my mother's commanding voice.

"Coming, Nana." I sigh and swing my legs back over the fence and hob down from my perch, my long brown dress and white shift swishing around my ankles. When I reach the door, I stop and glance up at the heavens only to see Eärendil twinkling merrily. It almost seems as if he is taunting me from his place in the night sky. I narrow my eyes at him, and when he deigns only to sparkle even brighter, I huff and flounce inside.

Nana sets a bowl filled with steaming venison stew in front of me. It smells delicious, but it is much too warm a meal for a night like this. I look up at her, about to voice my complaints, but when I notice the wisps of hair escaping from her normally tidy bun and the sweat glistening on her tired face, I swallow my words. She has worked hard all day to prepare this meal for us. I saw her butchering the deer my elder brother Haeronor brought back this morning. It must have taken her hours to do so. All day, she has been smoking the rest of the meat so it will keep.

"Thank you, Nana," I tell her.

She fondly brushes my cheek with her hand. "You are such a sweet girl. You are most welcome," she tells me in her rich, deep voice. "Even if you do not always obey me." Her face is now stern, yet her grey eyes dance with mirth.

I am relieved – I am not in trouble. Her attention is diverted from me, however, so she does not see my guilty expression. Surely she does not know that I snuck out last night for a brief walk in the woods to escape the stuffiness of the house?

"Maenor! What do you think you are doing?" She scolds, hands on her sturdy hips. I glance at my eight year old brother and hold back a laugh. Clearly, he has been rolling around in the dust all day. His tunic is positively filthy, as are his hands and face, and his dark hair sticks up in all different directions, entwined with twigs and leaves. He is seated at the table, reaching for his own stew, which my mother promptly snatches away. "Go wash up this instant! There better not be a speck of dirt under your fingernails when you come back!" Maenor is already bouncing down the hall to the washroom. He is obviously too hungry to respond to her scolding, and wishes to get his food as fast as possible. Nana places the steaming bowl back on the square table at my younger brother's vacated place on my right.

Haeronor seats himself on my left, on a side of the table perpendicular to mine and opposite Maenor's. After a long time away from home, he seems glad to be eating a proper meal at a table. His hair is glossy and clean-looking – he must already have bathed today. I am not surprised. Rangers have little chance to wash while on duty. Especially these days. They are away from home for far longer, with little respite from their duty of protecting these lands. When Lord Aragorn – King Elessar by now – called the Rangers to fight for him in the war down south, few were left behind to protect us. Now, those few that remain must work longer and harder.

I spoon some stew into my mouth and immediately wince; the hot liquid has burned my tongue. I chokingly swallow it down. Haeronor looks at me at just the right moment and sees my pained expression. The corner of his mouth twitches upward. I glare at him, though it does not have the same effect it normally does – my eyes are not quite as ferocious when they are watery with pain. Haeronor only smiles wider, eyes twinkling with amusement. However, he wisely does not utter a word.

My mother turns back around, a bowl of stew in each hand. Thankfully, by now, my face has resumed its normal expression. Nana sets one wooden bowl in front of my brother, then takes the seat opposite me and begins to eat her meal. Apparently, the hot stew has no effect on her tongue as it has mine. Haeronor too, begins eating, though he carefully blows on it before he places a spoonful in his mouth. He glances at me, the skin around his eyes creased in his amusement. I stick my tongue out at him.

"Celaireth! Where are your manners? Would you stick out your tongue at your brother were King Elessar to dine with us?"

I mutter my apologies.

"I thought as much." Nana turns her attention back to her meal and strikes up a quiet conversation with Haeronor. I pay little attention – they are speaking of naught more than the dryness of the season and what we can expect from our grain crops this year. Such topics bore me. Instead, I examine the table we are seated at. The surface of the sturdy, oak table is smooth from generations of use. The legs are carved elegantly with vines, flowers, and swords. Every so often, I find myself wondering about my ancestors. They must have sat at this very table, sharing stories and jokes, laughing and crying, eating well-made food… and today, I sit here with my family – or part of it, at least.

I am brought out of my reverie when Maenor returns to the table. His valiant attempt at washing up has been mostly unsuccessful. He has changed clothes and brushed his hair, though there are a few bits of undergrowth still trapped in his dark, curly locks. The dirt on his face is now smeared over his cheeks. It seems water did little good in washing away the light coating of dust he wore earlier. His fingernails, though, are miraculously clean. Nana spares a glance in his direction and sighs hopelessly, but lets it go. I suppose Maenor has been spared a second washing because he at least attempted to make himself presentable.

I grin at him when he looks at me and lean over the corner of the able to pick a twig out of his hair. "What were you up to today, to get so positively filthy?" I teasingly ask him.

He grins back. "I was fighting the orc armies to defend our home," he explains self-importantly. I glance over at the front door. Sure enough, there lies his wooden toy sword.

"I presume you reigned victorious?" I query seriously.

"Yes, I did," he says as he reaches for his bowl. He pulls it closer to him and takes a huge bite of his stew. He doesn't have the same problem I had – his meal has cooled down enough by now. I cautiously taste my own stew. It, too, has cooled some. I take another bite, savoring the potatoes, carrots, onions, and seasonings mixed in with the venison. Despite my misgivings about the heat of the meal, it is actually quite enjoyable.

"I am glad there are some brave souls who can protect the women and children when we men are gone," Haeronor tells him gravely. Maenor sits a little taller in his seat at being called brave. He doesn't seem to notice that Heronor did not include him as one of the 'men.'

"I do my best," he remarks.

I share a small smile with Haeronor and my mother. At only eight years old, my younger brother is so precocious.

Nana continues to eat calmly and politely. I subtly watch her, trying to mimic her movements. Oh, if I could have half the grace my mother has! Then surely Belon would pay attention to me. How handsome he is, with his sturdy shoulders and strong jaw… I am sure he will have already met plenty of beautiful women in Gondor by now, though. How I wish he had been one of those who stayed behind! No boy my age has paid much attention to me as they do to Lothwen, that annoying, flirtatious, beautiful, stuck-up… I tamp down my jealousy, only to be left with one last defeated thought – at this rate, I will never find a husband.

I am brought out of my misery by Maenor high-pitched child's voice. "Nana, when is Ada coming home?" he asks.

Nana's face looks sad for a brief moment. This sadness is replaced by a sure, loving smile. She reaches out and takes Maenor's hand in her own, gently rubbing the back of it in her instinctual, motherly fashion.

"I do not know, my son. But we do know the War is over. Remember the shaking of the ground early this past spring? The lifting of the shadow from our hearts? The battles are long over."

"But if they are over, why is he not home?" Maenor looks anxious.

"Do you not remember? Lord Elrond led many of his people to Gondor to witness the marriage of the Lady Arwen to King Elessar. I am sure the Rangers also stayed in Gondor to witness the event. And when he _does_ get home, I am sure he will have many marvelous stories to tell you." Maenor's troubles seem to melt off his face as he ponders what stories our father will tell us when he returns.

Nana withdraws her hand and resumes eating. I look at Haeronor, who eats his stew with gusto. I smile; he clearly relishes the flavor. He always packs light, and sees very little reason to include herbs and spices to give flavor to his food. Other supplies are more important, of course, but I do not see why a small pack of herbs would be so grievous a burden.

"How long will you stay?" Nana asks Haeronor, a hopeful light in her eyes.

"I must leave in the morning, I am afraid," My elder brother tells her, setting the spoon back in his bowl. He looks up at her and makes eye contact. Nana's shoulder slump slightly; she is obviously disappointed. I know she misses him when he is gone… We all do. "There are very few of us right now, and we need everyone we can get to help us. It is dangerous right now, we're barely holding on as it is."

Nana nods, and through her disappointment, I can detect a hint of pride. "Do what you must, my son. But be safe."

Haeronor nods, smiling gently. "Always, Nana." Nana smiles back, and we all resume our meal. Before long, we are finished and leaning back contentedly in our chairs. I pick at the frayed edge of my sleeve, enjoying the peacefulness of the evening. A few moments pass, until Maenor yawns widely. Nana smiles tenderly at him.

"I think it is time that we all retire for the evening. It has been a long day, and we have much work to do tomorrow," Nana gently reminds us. I nod and stand, yawning and stretching, then quickly peck each of my family members on the cheek. "Goodnight," I murmur, then make my way to the ladder leading to the loft where I sleep. Behind me, I hear the comforting noises of my mother cleaning up the mess from the meal and the softly murmured conversation she exchanges with Haeronor.

It has been a good day. I am disappointed my brother must leave upon the rising of the sun, but I still look forward to the few moments we may share; he is my closest friend and confidante. Right now, I shall be content to sleep.

* * *

The morning dawns early and bright. I can feel the warmth of the sun already as it passes through a window set high in the east wall of the house and rests on my face. I snuggle deeper into my blankets, adjusting myself on the straw mattress. I can hear my family members moving about in the main room, beginning their work for the day. Being the only woman of the house aside from my mother, Edraithel, certainly has its merits – I get the small loft above our main living area as my own private area. Though it is sparsely furnished, with only the mattress resting on the floor in its corner, a washbasin on the opposite wall, a low stool and a small wooden chest, I feel privileged to call such a space my own. In the relative peace of the loft, I can steal a few more moments, cocooned in my soft, warm quilts.

But soon, the heat of the sun makes my bed unbearably hot. I sit up and stretch, the two quilts falling from my shoulders. Then I remember – Haeronor is set to leave this morn. I scramble out of bed and stumble to the washbasin on the opposite wall, hurriedly splashing my face with water and drying it with a hand towel that rests beside it on the small table. Feeling moderately more awake, I retrieve my white chemise and dark brown kirtle from their place hanging over the edge of the small chest at the foot of my mattress. I hurriedly don the garments, expertly tightening the ties that run up the front of the kirtle. I then run my fingers through my dark, wavy locks and twist them into a simple braid. Within moments I am ready for the day.

I descend the ladder to my loft into the main living area. Haeronor is already seated at the table, eating a breakfast of bread and cheese. "Up so soon, sister?" he asks, feigning shock.

I laugh and lightly punch him in the arm. "Only to see you off, you scoundrel." Haeronor grins at me. Nana lets out a semi-exasperated sigh, but smiles at us both. Over the years she has learned to put up with our good-natured bickering.

I help myself to a portion of the bread and cheese resting on the table and wolf it down where I stand. I wipe the crumbs from my skirts and speed toward the wooden door where I shove my feet into my worn leather boots. The soles are wearing thin, but Nana has promised that she will find me a new pair before the start of winter. I must wear these until then.

Finishing the laces, I whip around and fix my brother with a mock glare. "You better be here when I get back," I tell him sternly, brooking no argument. Haeronor simply grins wider and nods his acquiescence. With a contented smile, I dart out of the house and into the dust of the day.

My chores seem to take half the time they do normally – I dare not hold back my brother too long from his duties. I milk the cow, feed the animals, and lead the horses out to the paddock where they may exercise free of the confines of the barn. Haeronor's stallion, I leave in the stable; they will be parting with us soon and the poor animal deserves a few moments more of rest. I then haul buckets of water from our well to the troughs for the horses, cow, and the pigs in their pen. Wiping my wet hands on my brown skirt – I have forgotten to wear my apron again, and I take care not to soil my dress too badly – I make my way back inside.

Haeronor stands in the entryway, his saddlebags resting near the door. Though I knew he was leaving this morning, my stomach still sinks at the sight. He is clearly ready to leave, what with his well-worn (but now clean) travelling clothes, sword belted to his waist, and pack filled with salted meats, bread, and apples. As I step inside, he gathers his bow and quiver and slings them across his back. With his rugged features and well-muscled body, he is the very picture of a Dunedain Ranger.

Haeronor seems to notice my lowered countenance, and he smiles at me, trying to raise my spirits. He rests a callused hand on my shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Worry not, I shall be back soon," He assures me. "After all, who can defeat the proud Rangers of the North?" he said with a silly grin. I grin back at him; despite my misgivings, I am reassured.

"Well, go on then," I tease him. "Bring me something nice when you come back home?" I plead, like the little sister I am.

Haeronor nods, grin melting into a gentle smile. "See you soon, sister." I smile and throw my arms around his waist, hugging him tight before letting go and stepping back.

Nana takes my place, wrapping her arms around her grown son and kissing him on the cheek. "I love you, dear," she tells him softly. "Stay safe." Haeronor looks her in the eyes and nods solemnly. He takes her hand for a brief moment. "You too," he tells her. The lighthearted atmosphere is gone – it feels just as momentous as when we sent Ada off to the war. I do not understand, but I cannot ruin what appears to be a precious moment.

Maenor appears from behind Haeronor, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The eight-year-old stumbles forward, then latches his arm around Haeronor's legs, the highest he can reach at his short stature. "Don't' leave Haeronor, not yet!"

My elder brother laughs and drops mother's hand, placing his arm around Maenor's small shoulders. "I have to. Surely you understand… after all, you will one day be a ranger too."

"Not yet," Maenor grumbles. "I am not big enough."

Haeronor smiles indulgently. "No, not yet. But you do have a very important job to do while I am gone. You will be the only man of the house left – I expect you to take care of the ladies."

Maenor looks up at Haeronor, a determined light coming into his eyes. He slowly drops his arms and stands as tall as he possibly can. "I will. You can trust me."

Haeronor's expression of grave seriousness does not hide the light in his eyes. He is amused, as am I. Nana's face is unreadable – I know that she must worry for her eldest son, but I cannot tell from her expression.

"Come, Maenor," Nana chides. "We cannot hold your brother back any longer than we must. He has important work to tend to." Nana and Haeronor share one last look, then Haeronor turns and shoulders his saddlebags.

"Farewell," he tells us all, then steps out the door. Our eyes follow him as he disappears inside the stable for a moment, then returns leading his stallion. He raises a hand to us in farewell, then mounts and rides away into the surrounding forest.

I cannot help but think that things will be much changed the next time we see him. I do not know from whence this thought arises, but somehow know it to be true. I stand in the doorway for some time after my mother and brother, watching the forest with inexplainable sadness in my heart.

* * *

**A/N: **Here are some definitions of some names and words that may be unfamiliar to some readers. Though the Dúnedain primarily speak Sindarin (correct me if I'm wrong) and if fully "translated" to English my fanfiction would not include these Sindarin words, I chose to keep some words instead of using just English, in order to present part of their culture in my writing.

Nana: Mother

Ada: Father

Gwathlo River: Greyflood River

Mitheithel River: Hoarwell River

Bruinen River: Loudwater River

Imladris: Rivendell


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